I'm Not Faust (But it was Still a Bad Idea)
by Morbid Hatter
Summary: Germany, 1944: Bucky Barnes sells his soul to save Steve. Years later Clint Barton does the same to save the life of Phil Coulson, the demon to take his deal is none other than Bucky. Curious as to what makes Clint tick, he continues to drop in on him throughout the years and creates a relationship that is a match made in Hell.
1. Chapter 1: Munich, Germany, 1944

I'm Not Faust (But It Was Still A Bad Idea)

Outside Munich, Germany, 1944

A siren echoed through the crisp night air from Munich, but they came too late. The damage had already been done and there was no way to fix it. The Axis and Allied Powers had seen fit to engage in a battle in the skies over Munich, Germany because of it's location and importance to the German army. Munich, a large city near the Alps was not only home to the Luftwaffe, but also to many manufacturing plants that were crucial to Hitler's armies. However, built into the side of the Alps mountain range outside of Munich was a base of operations to Hitler's side project dubbed Hydra.

Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th, best friend of Steve Rogers aka Captain America, had been rescued from another Hydra fortress some time before; he had since made it his duty to fight beside Steve as he attempted to take out as many other bases as possible. James, better known as Bucky, was part of a group of men called the Howling Commandos, a group he was proud to call himself a member of because of their cause: to rescue any and all prisoners of Hydra and eliminate the threat of the operation.

Even with this pride, Sergeant Barnes couldn't rationalize the needless death he had just witnessed. He enlisted in the US Army as soon as he turned 18 and had worked hard to earn his rank before he had been shipped across the sea to fight against the Axis powers when he had been stationed in Germany. But this - this was something he couldn't seem to wrap his head around. He had witnessed death and destruction during his service, it was an effect of war, but what he had witnessed hours before was not something he would ever be okay with.

Logically, he knew that Captain America was a figurehead for troops to rally around and to boost morale wherever he went. This made him important to the cause but didn't necessarily mean he was any more important than any other soldier serving under Old Glory. Right now, however, logic wasn't at the forefront of Bucky's thought process. Right now, the only thing Bucky could think of is why they had received no warning about the incoming planes or the bombs dropping onto anything important to the German Army. He still wasn't positive if their caravan hadn't been noticed, or if it had been mislabeled as an instrument of the Axis Powers, or if they were deemed a threat by their own allies.

In the end, he decided, it didn't matter. No matter the cause of the destruction, the consequences won't change. He would still have to witness his best friend fly off the side of a treacherous mountain road. Bucky hoped he was okay; but knew in his gut that serum or no, Steve had not survived his fall.

He paced back and forth outside of the camp on his watch. He could see the fire in the middle of their makeshift camp every time he turned to march back the way he had come. Several times he took out a folded picture of himself and Steve when they were boys. The photo was battered but it was the only thing he had left of his best friend.

Slowly, the hour got later and later and the fire dimmed until just the coals at the bottom of the pit were visible. The later the hour got, the more he knew there was no point in watching for Steve to come back. In a fit of anger her threw the old photo to the ground and tried to bury it with the heel of his boot. The cloud cover blocked out what little light the stars would have given off on an otherwise moonless night. The roads out this far away from Munich were quiet at such a late hour wasn't surprising but it was causing the fine hairs at Bucky's hairline to raise as though he were being watched.

He sighed heavily and shook his head before he turned away from their camp to continue his pacing only to almost collide with a woman. Not just any woman, he noted after a few disorienting seconds where he was sure her eyes were as red as her hair, but once he was able to refocus he realized it had only been a trick of the light. (What light? a traitorous part of his mind supplied unhelpfully.)

"Well, hello soldier," she purred in a slightly accented voice. She was taller than most women Bucky knew; even when she was barefooted they stood almost eye to eye. She was wearing a soft looking white dress that flowed around her knees even though she was still and there hadn't been any wind in hours. "You look like you're looking for something."

Bucky choked on a laugh. Something? Ha! "Do you need something, miss?" he asked trying to remember his manners in the presence of a lady, especially one who gave him the shivers and not the kind pretty girls normally gave him.

She laughed, an eerie but melodic sound that seemed to resonate through Bucky's entire body. "No," she answered with another laugh. "But you do." She took a few quick steps so that she was right up in Bucky's space and placed her small hand on his chest. "I can feel it here" she continued and from this close, Bucky could smell something faintly resembled rotten eggs.

"Well, yeah," Bucky answered feeling like he was missing some key part of their interaction. "But it's not something anyone can do anything about, miss. Now, can I help you find your way anywhere?"

She smiled. It wasn't pleasant. She looked like a cat who had eaten the canary and washed it down with the cream. It was a dangerous curl of plush, red lips. She circled him slowly, as if she were appraising a new car. "I've seen inside your heart, Bucky. I know what you want."

Bucky, who had been attempting to follow her while she circled him so that she stayed in his line of sight (she was dangerous and it was instinct to try to keep her in front of him). "How did you know my name?"

She didn't answer, but her smile grew infinitesimally larger. "That doesn't matter, soldier. What matters is that I can give you what you want."

It was a cool evening in late April, but Bucky could feel his body temperature drop several degrees regardless of the heavy jacket he wore over his uniform, and his throat clicked as he tried to swallow around a sudden lump. This woman wasn't human; he could feel it down in the same place in him where he knew that Steve was dead. She may have once been human, judging by the fact that she looked like a woman in her early twenties, but there was no way that she retained any bit of humanity in her. He took a deep breath before he asked the question he already knew the answer to. "In exchange for what?"

She rocked from the balls of her feet back to her heels in a move that seemed too juvenile to come from someone who's eyes seemed ancient and otherworldly. "Nothing you'll miss," she answered smoothly. "And even if you did, isn't it worth it for the good Captain?"

"So my soul for Steve? How do I know you'll keep your end of the deal?"

Her eyes flared crimson and she squared her shoulders as if she was preparing for a fight. "Done," she said simply with a vague gesture towards the eastern edge of camp. "Now seal the deal or Captain Rogers will never reach camp. I'll send him right back to where he fell and you'll have to live with the knowledge that you let your best friend die again."

Bucky stopped himself from reaching out and throttling her; even though she was obviously not a human, she was still a woman and his mother would rise from her grave and smack him upside the head if he even so much as twitched in the direction of a young lady with intent to injure. "You don't have to manipulate me. I just wanted to make sure you weren't going to stiff me before you steal my soul."

"Steal?" she hissed, sounding insulted. "We're making a deal. That means you're willingly trading it for my services."

He heaved a sigh and glanced once more across the camp to where she had pointed. Steve would kill him if he ever found out what happened and he didn't know if he would be able to look at him without confessing; but he couldn't handle not seeing Steve one more time to make sure the chucklehead would be okay.

"Going once. Going twice," she taunted with a wicked look on her beautiful face.

"Wait! Just let me say goodbye!"

She jerked to a halt, her toes landing back on the ground with a soft thud. "I may be a demon, but I do have some sympathy. You'll have plenty of time to see him and settle your affairs before I come to collect what's mine."

Bucky didn't think that sounded like he was getting much time at all but any chance to say good-bye was something he couldn't turn away. He nodded his consent. "Alright, let's get this show on the road."

She adjusted her posture and rested her hand on his shoulder to balance herself in her new position. "It only takes a kiss," she whispered. Up close Bucky was able to finally figure out what exactly the rotten egg smell was; now that he knew she was a demon he understood that the smell was sulfur. It wasn't nearly as potent as he expected but it was still unpleasant. "Pucker up, soldier."

The kiss wasn't nearly as filthy as he was expecting from a demon. He didn't know much about any paranormal history or even Christian lore, but he knew enough to know that demons weren't to be trusted or known for being particularly virtuous. That knowledge aside, this kiss was rather chaste as if she could sense his reluctance to kiss someone he didn't know. He had kissed his fair share of dames in his time, but he had always formed some kind of emotional attachment to them before kissing any of them. Regardless of any misconceptions he had about demons, the kiss was done and the deal was sealed. "Your friend should show up in a few minutes. You had better be ready to greet him. Time is ticking."

She turned as if to walk away before simply vanishing into thin air. He could hear the cheers and shouts from the camp as Steve crested the low hill and came into view of those who were still awake regardless of the late hour.


	2. Chapter 2: Prague, Czech Republic, 2002

Prague, Czech Republic, 2002

There were several things Clint Barton was certain of. One: that he was hands down the best marksman in the world which was due to his incredible eyesight (and ability to do complex physics/geometry equations in his head) and years spent in the circus learning how to make impossible shots. Two: he hated Communism with a passion of one thousand burning suns. And three: that Phil Coulson was not going to die today. All of these things were related, but Clint was feeling generous about his worth today so he wasn't going to get too specific.

Luckily for Phil, these three things added up to one incredibly angry sniper. Clint's hands were steady while he assessed the situation around them. They were in an alley behind their hotel where Clint had been backed into while trying to get to Coulson who had called for backup over their comm unit. He had been too late to stop the rogue gunman, but he had been able to deal with him before he stepped out of the alley into the street where he would've been able to blend into the panicked crowd. None of this added up to what Clint would consider a successful mission, even if their main target had been eliminated before the chaos had started. Unfortunately, Clint knew Coulson was bleeding out too quickly for Clint to get help, even if he could remember enough Czech there was no way to explain away their situation, not as heavily armed as they were (and there was no way in hell Clint was losing his bow when the area was crawling with threats).

"Hey Coulson, remember last year when you shot me in the thigh? I promise this isn't payback. I got back here as soon as I could. I promise I didn't let you get shot on purpose." Clint was babbling and he knew it, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. His cool from just a few minutes ago was gone as the adrenalin that flooded his system burnt away.

"Relax, Barton. Evac will come. I'll be fine and I'll only make you do paperwork for a week instead of a month."

If there was one thing the circus taught him it was that there was no cause for unnecessary stupidity. Clint knew this, and he knew Coulson knew this. That meant that it was a platitude, something for Clint to hold on to as he waited for the inevitable. He let out a strangled laugh in an attempt to keep the mood light, an attempt that fell short of its mark but neither would admit to it.

Clint stood up from his crouched position behind the dumpster that was doubling as their very shoddy cover and snuck down to the edge of the shadow to see if he could get a glimpse of their evac team but saw no recognizable people making their way through the crowd. At this rate, he knew they weren't going to make it. There was no safe way for Clint to move his handler on his own with a rapidly bleeding shoulder wound (and wasn't that just the shittiest luck ever? the only potentially vulnerable point on Coulson's entire torso thanks to his Kevlar vest). He was most definitely going to file a request for outsourcing their tactical gear from now on. StarkTech was so much better than the shoddy stuff they were stuck with.

After his useless scan of what he could see of the street from the relative safety of the shadows Clint sat down next to Coulson. He took his jacket off and rolled it into a makeshift pillow. There wasn't much else he could offer for comfort with a shattered collar bone and no exit wound to speak of. Clint allowed his head to smack against the hard concrete behind him as he heaved a tired sigh. "You know, I never thanked you for the second chance, Coulson." Clint bit hard on his lip. "I knew you were given the kill order. I just wish -" he cut himself off and ran his shaking fingers through his dirty hair.

A heavy hand landed on Clint's knee. "You'll never have to, Barton. I saw your potential. I know you have heart, you were really bad at hiding it." Coulson stopped at started coughing; loud, wet coughs that brought up too much blood for Clint's comfort.

"Dammit, Sir, there's gotta be something I can do." Clint would deny he was begging by this point. He wanted to be useful but his life so far wasn't about saving people's lives but ending them. He was able to patch himself up enough but the end result was a star-shaped scar on each side of his right thigh and half a dozen poorly healed ribs.

Coulson didn't answer. It was instantly apparent that he couldn't because he wasn't getting enough air. He was quietly gasping around a lung full of blood. Instead, Coulson raised his one good hand and finger-spelled "L-E-A-V-E. F-I-N-D. S-A-F-E-T-Y."

"Sorry, Sir. I don't understand your terrible attempts at Sign. You're just gonna have to try harder later." Clint attempted a cheeky grin fell flat. "Just rest, Coulson, I'll keep an eye out," Clint promised even as his eyes stayed focused on his handler and only once ventured away from the grey color of Coulson's face. He kept track of the minutes in his head until Coulson's intense blue eyes closed and didn't open again. It hadn't even taken 15 minutes.

He curled his hands around his biceps in a mock hug and tucked his head into the cradle of his arms in an attempt to comfort himself and to keep himself from screaming in frustration. It wasn't often anymore that he felt helpless and he had forgotten how debilitating it could be.

Regardless of the panic he could feel rising up in his chest, Clint took stock of everything he knew he could do. He glanced around and found a piece of broken glass. He quickly picked it up and carefully put it in front of Coulson's face. When it didn't fog up from an exhale Clint knew there wasn't anything evac was going to be able to do if or when they fought their way into the heart of a panicked Czech city. It was a pity that his Czech wasn't as good as his Polish (or Russian; or French; or the other dozen languages he was almost fluent in). While he could say basic phrases in Czech ("Where is the bathroom?" and "Can I pet your dog?" were the only two examples he felt one hundred percent comfortable using) he was almost completely fluent in Polish thanks to Bianka the fortune teller that traveled with Carson's back when he was a boy.

Bianka had taken an interest in Clint and seemed determined to keep him away from the shadier aspects of the circus. While he hadn't understood why as a boy, now he understood why she looked at him with such a deep sadness when he babbled happily in Polish about how Trick was going to teach him how to shoot. She seemed to make it her personal mission to teach him whatever she knew about reading people, and basic things such as sewing and cooking. His favorite things however, were not the lessons, but the stories she brought over with her. Her family had survived the second world war by fleeing Poland for British-ruled Africa before the Nazi's invaded Poland in 1939. She herself had been born outside of Poland since her family had never gone back; but she knew all the stories out of the "Old Country" and even some from her short time in Africa.

And now he was letting himself get lost in memories which wasn't going to help his situation. He needed to focus on something other than the stories he had been fed when he was young.

Now, he knew her fortune telling was all bullshit and cold reading, but back then he had believed all the voodoo nonsense…Voodoo. While he didn't necessarily believe in any religion, there was a story that stood out in his memory. A man bartering his soul for riches sealed with a kiss from a beautiful witch-woman.

Clint jumped to his feet and tugged Coulson's SHIELD badge from under his handler's body armor. It wouldn't be good if someone came across his body and identified an American spy organization on foreign soil. "Sorry sir," he apologized even though he knew it was pointless. "It can't hurt. And if it doesn't work no one will ever know," he muttered to himself. He took his phone out of his pocket and sat it down next to Coulson in case the evac team was using it to track their location.

He tucked Coulson's ID badge in his vest next to his own to keep it safe as he slipped into the crowd and away with a silent promise to return regardless of success or failure (the latter being the obvious end to his admittedly mad venture). "I'll be back soon, sir," he vowed under his breath while he kept his eye out for landmarks to so he would be able to get back to where he had left Coulson's body.

It wasn't a long walk before he found something that could be useful to him. The small park was almost deserted with the rest of the city told to stay indoors to stop the crowd to grow larger than it already was. With just a little bit of searching he found an intersection in two dirt paths.

Bianka had told him the story as a allegory for never devaluing hard work, but Clint wasn't using this for himself to get anything out of it. He was going to use it to save the only person to ever value him for something other than his flawless aim since his mama died when he was a little boy.

Regardless of her original intentions, she had been oddly specific on the details of the story. So specific that Clint believed it was either a complete fabrication or one hundred percent fact. It was probably bullshit, and he probably looked ridiculous kneeling in the dirt in the middle of a panicked city; but he officially had zero fucks left to give. He was desperate. And, as they say, desperate times call for desperate measures; and he had only been this desperate once before, and it wasn't a time he liked to think back on.

He ignored his fingernails tearing from the layer of pebbles that marked the shaded pathway. Clint dug under his tac vest and removed his own Identification card. He didn't have a bone from a black cat but if his botany skills were even the slightest bit accurate, the small flowers that were lining the east-west trail were what he thought they were, he had his Yarrow. Hopefully his intent would be enough to get this to work…if it wasn't completely bogus, that is.

He paced the four cardinal directions several times, each time getting more and more discouraged. He stopped over the loosely packed dirt where he had buried his identification badge and the flower. "Fuck this," he whispered and dug his ruined fingernails into the soft flesh of his palms hard enough to leave red crescent moon shapes. The sting was enough to distract him and keep from falling apart like he wished he could; but in the middle of a panicked city (even removed from the action as he was at the moment) was not the place to lose his cool. No, that would have to wait for Evac, whenever that showed up. For now, he had to get back to Coulson and hope the alley hadn't been compromised.

Locating the Saint Vitus Cathedral by the tall spires, he retrieved his now dirty badge and tucked it back next to Coulson's before he stood and began to make his way back the way he came.

"Well, aren't you rude? You ruined my nice relaxing vacation by summoning me and then you leave. Kinda makes a guy not want to corporate."

Clint felt his stomach tumble and his heart skip several beats. "No way," he said, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. He turned slowly and came face to face with the least demonic demon he had ever imagined. Not that he spent a lot of free time imagining what demons looked like; but this guy definitely wasn't what he would have expected. For one, his eyes weren't red or black, nor were his pupils slits like a snakes or any other descriptor he had ever heard. Secondly, was his height. Now Clint would admit he was taller than average (6'3" according to his official SHIELD physical) and because of this, the man standing in front of him was about a head shorter than him. He seemed practically tiny, and it was hard to be intimidated by anyone he had to look down on to make eye contact with. Lastly, he was dressed in regular street clothes so that someone who passed him on the street wouldn't have ever been able to pick him out of a crowd. The only thing that screamed otherworldly was the slightly insubstantial look of his left hand. Clint was willing to bet that if his eyesight wasn't perfect he would have missed that detail. (He was also willing to bet that more than just the demon's hand was that strange dense smoke-like substance, but he wasn't really in a betting mood so it was a moot point.)

The demon smiled. It was a slow, sleepy smile, like something dangerous was waking up. "Are you quite done checking me out, Agent? Or do you prefer Clint? Maybe even that adorable moniker? Hawkeye, isn't it?"

Clint didn't want to ask how it knew all about him, it made him want to question notions like free will and destiny; and he really wasn't in the mood for an existential crisis. Instead, he went with his second choice: flirt. "Not yet. Can you turn around slowly? Gotta check out the assets, you know how it is," he countered with a wink and a sly smile.

The demon laughed and clapped his hands together. And that was something else Clint was choosing to ignore for the time being. He was much too stressed out to figure out how something that he could see through could allow for a clapping sound. Whatever. He was a circus brat, he had seen a lot of weird stuff in his life. "Well, now that we've established I'm a catch, let's get down to business, shall we?"

Clint nodded. "I want to make a deal."

The demon's smile grew a fraction. "I'd gathered that much for myself, thanks. Now, I think I know what this is about, but indulge me." The demon waved him on to speak with a flashy twist of his real hand.

"My soul for someone's life. Can you do that?" he asked, sounding much more confident than he felt.

The demon nodded slowly and tilted his head like a bird watching its prey. His previously grey irises flared crimson as he studied Clint. He felt a icy chill rush down his spine, much like when he felt someone trying to sneak up on him. Almost as soon as the color flashed, it disappeared to show the much more human-looking grey again. The demon raised one dark eyebrow in surprise. "What makes this guy so special? Do you love him or something?"

Clint choked on a hysterical laugh. "Not romantically. He's more like -" he paused, unsure how to word exactly what Coulson was to him. "It's hard to explain. He's not like a father figure, but he is in a way. I know that doesn't make sense, but his life is worth so much more than mine."

The demon who had previously looked like he was going to laugh at him stopped and the smile slipped away and his eyes seemed to fade somewhere far away or long ago. "Fine. The standard is 10 years. I'll bring him back and in 10 years you'll join me. Or less than that if you're not careful. And judging by the scars I'd say it's a safe bet that I'll see you sooner than that. Regardless, your mentor-friend lives with no memory of dying - I'll throw that one in for free since speaking from personal experience, it's really difficult to explain that away. Do we have a deal?" By the end of his spiel the far-away look was replaced by a small frown as if he disapproved of Clint's choice despite himself.

"That's fine. Just fix this. I screwed up and he shouldn't pay for it," Clint said through clenched teeth. He didn't need the approval of the demon in front of him - he just needed to know he did everything in his power to save the man who saved him. If it wasn't for Phil Coulson he would probably be dead or so morally compromised that he wished he were dead, and neither option was something he wanted for himself.

"Last chance to back out," the demon warned even as he invaded Clint's space. When Clint didn't stop him, the demon weaved his (very solid feeling) spectral hand around the collar of Clint's tac vest and pulled him down so that they were eye level. From here it was impossible to miss the sulfur smell that emitted from the demon's entire being.

"So do I get to know your name or am I gonna have to make up some ridiculous name for you. I'll call you Claude. Or maybe Augustus. How about -" the demon cut Clint off by kissing him. The surprise was enough to momentarily stun Clint into silence. He had been expecting a little warning before the deal was sealed. Oh well, he thought, it either happens now or later.

As soon as Clint started kissing back the demon pulled away slightly. "You can call me James," the demon whispered before disappearing into nothingness.

Bucky watched Clint run his thumb over his bottom lip before he turned and ran back towards his fallen companion. He had to admit he was a little curious as to what made this Phillip J. Coulson so special he was worth a boy's eternal soul. In his time as a crossroads demon, having taken Natalia's place so she could retire to a nice desk job after several millennia (time was screwy in Hell he had found out after his death), he had yet to come across someone to sell their soul to ensure the life of someone else. Natalia said it was rare for people to do selfless things in exchange for Hell. And that was why he followed Clint back to his superior who's life he had yet to return. There was no other reason, he told himself. It wasn't because he felt oddly connected to the only other person he had ever met to bargain away his soul for a friend the way he had after Steve had fallen.

He was very bad at lying to himself.

When Clint reached the mouth of the alley and saw that Bucky's end of the bargain had yet to be completed he stopped dead and spun around. "What the fuck? Where are you, you son of a bitch? You have to fix this! That was the deal!" Bucky felt a strange pang in his chest the longer Clint kept talking, his voice finally cracking when he said, "that was my only chance."

"Relax, Clint," he felt himself whispering even though in the In-Between his voice wouldn't carry to him. Bucky closed his connection to the scene in front of him and instead focused on shuffling through the line of recently deceased before finding the brightly burning soul of one Phillip Coulson before it could make it's way off to it's final resting space (and that was a lot of Steve memorabilia in that particular afterlife. It was mildly hilarious if he was being truthful). "Sorry, Phil old buddy, you can't go just yet," he told the ball of light before he sent it rushing back to its body.

It was curiosity that brought him back with the soul to see their reunion. Clint sounded sure when he said he wasn't in love with the middle-aged pencil pusher look-alike but he knew that humans tended to lie even when there was no reason to. But the way the blond's eyes lit up when Phil opened his eyes was love even if he hadn't been lying about not being in love. It was a look he hadn't seen directed at anyone since Steve looked at him after he found him strapped to a table in that Hydra fortress in Austria. It was a look that said 'I'd do anything to keep you safe,' and 'you're my best friend,' and a number of other things that were now foreign to Bucky and had been for almost 60 Earth years.

He continued to watch as Clint welcomed Phil back to the land of the living with a wry smile on his face. Bucky was fascinated to see the shift in Clint's mood from somber and desperate to a forced joviality for the sake of his friend. And when Coulson had asked Clint how he had managed to save his life, Clint answered "I sold my soul." But it was said with a smile and a wink so Coulson took it as a joke.

He watched as Clint's shoulders sagged and he ran his thumb across his bottom lip once Coulson turned away from Clint to make another call.

He would continue to watch Clint. It was like a thread connected him to this particular deal. He wanted to know why someone else would damn themselves like he had. It was maddening not knowing something. He'd be damned again if he didn't figure out what made this kid tick…what it was that made them so alike; so desperate to be around someone they would give away the only thing they have of any worth to ensure one person's survival.


	3. Madrid, Spain, 2004

Madrid, Spain, 2004

Clint nearly fell of the roof of El Pozo station when Bucky appeared. It had been almost two years since Clint made a deal with Bucky but scaring him had yet to lose it's charm for Bucky. "What's the word, Hawkeye?" he asked as he casually leaned over so he could look over the ledge and watch the trains coming and going.

Having recovered quicker than normal, Clint returned his focus to some point far off that Bucky couldn't quite see and removed a small ear piece. "A.I.M. sold some weapons to a terrorist cell and now SHIELD has to clean up the mess. What else is new?" he asked with a small quirk of his lips.

"Don't want your guard dog to know you're talking to a boy?" Bucky teased and bumped his knee lightly against Clint's hip.

"Don't want my handler knowing I'm talking to a demon to whom I sold my soul for his life. A demon who follows me around like he had nothing better to do," Clint countered but was still smiling so Bucky knew he wasn't too annoyed. "What do you want, James?"

Bucky sighed and regretted introducing himself as James. It made him feel like he was talking to his sister who had been the only person still alive who still called him James before he had died. But it was safer, he reasoned, with Clint being so close to a Captain America scholar to keep his anonymity. While Clint was probably aware that Steve Rogers had a friend names James 'Bucky' Barnes, James was a more common name and thus safer for Clint to know than Bucky. It wasn't that he didn't want Clint to know they had more in common than both selling their souls, it was that he didn't want Clint to relay any knowledge about what really happened to Bucky Barnes and why he died. Clint tended to babble when he got bored, or scared, or captured (and yes, he found that out the hard way. Clint had been tied to a chair and had spouted off every random fact that he knew while he was being beaten waiting for his team to come rescue him), and he didn't want the entire world to know that the war hero James Barnes had sold his soul and turned into a demon. It was an insult to his memory. "Can't I just check up on you every once in a while without getting the third degree?"

Clint snorted inelegantly before his eyes narrowed marginally and he slipped his comm unit back into his ear. "I have eyes on a target, Coulson. Requesting permission to take the shot. Repeat. I have a clear shot. Should I take it?"

Bucky resented being ignored but was also used to it when Clint shifted into work mode. He didn't like the shift, it was like something dark took over the usually brightness of Clint's entire being. It was a reminder that Clint was marked and that brightness would eventually be snuffed out like his own had been. Maybe that's why I keep coming back, Bucky thought to himself as he watched Clint set up his rifle (all while muttering darkly about being forced to used a gun over his bow). It's like watching the process I didn't get to go through.

Unlike the deal Bucky had offered Clint, he had been given no such time limit and had only had enough time to set his affairs in order before he had been killed in a fire fight. Or, that had been the official story. In reality, the bomb going off was only a distraction so that the Hellhound wounds wouldn't show. Natalia was thorough like that.

So since he hadn't had the time to lose himself to the darkness, he watched with a kind of morbid curiosity as it slowly happened to Clint. And he could admit to himself, he was trying to keep that from happening as much as possible. He hadn't had a hard time adjusting to Hell sine his soul had been so bright and untainted upon admission, and he was hoping to grant the same entry to Clint when his time came in a little over 8 years.

Lost in thought as he had been, Bucky almost missed the danger not 10 feet away from their hiding place. Had he not been musing about his own misfortune he may have been able do something to stop the explosion before it had happened. Instead, he did the next best thing and grabbed onto Clint and forced him through the In-Between and away from the worst of the blast that had detonated right under their noses. "Are you okay, Clint?" Bucky asked when he brought them back to Earth a safe distance from the set of explosions going off all along the railway. "Clint?"

When Clint didn't answer Bucky released his grip on Clint's bicep and instead gently lifted his head by pushing his chin up. "Talk to me, buddy."

Clint blinked slowly and began to shiver as if he had gone into shock; which was entirely possible Bucky reasoned. The In-Between was not a place for the living; it tended to do funny things to them, but the situation had called for a gut reaction and not careful planning. Clint's eyes were wide but focused as always so it wasn't shock.

"You gave me a bit of a scare there, buddy. I know I shouldn't have pulled you in between worlds like that but it's the fastest way to travel and I had to get the squishy mortal out of the way. You understand, right?" Bucky was rambling slightly, a habit he had picked up from Clint, but he couldn't help it; the words just kept coming no matter how hard he tried to stop. Clint wasn't responding to anything he was saying but was directing his laser focus on Bucky's mouth as if he were trying to absorb the words that were spilling quickly from his lips.

Bucky heard the crackling of static over Clint's ear piece and then noticed that the small comm unit was dangling from the collar of Clint's tac vest where it had fallen out from the blast - the blast that had apparently blown out Clint's eardrums if the light blood flow from his ears was any indication. "Sorry," he said slowly and clearly before he snatched the device and held it up to his own ear. "Um, hey. Your guy here was hit by part of the explosion. I moved him to safety. We're about two hundred yards from the main entrance."

There was no answer on the line but Bucky was sure Coulson was on his way. If there was one thing he had learned since he started keeping tabs on Clint, it was that Coulson always came for him. Their relationship had transcended that of handler and specialist that they were apparently supposed to maintain, and instead morphed into a strong, boundless friendship.

And he was right. Not three minutes later a large black van with a stylized eagle on the side skidded into view and the back door popped open to reveal Phil Coulson with a gun drawn and aimed in between Bucky's eyes. He kept his phantom left arm out of sight and hoped that the stench of burning buildings was enough to cover the lingering smell of sulfur that followed Bucky like a haze (apparently it was something that was noticeable when he stood close to someone, according to Clint). "Easy there, Tiger," Bucky said in the most soothing tone possible. He knew the bullet wouldn't do any damage to his body but that left a lot of tricky questions to answer and would probably get Clint into a lot of trouble; not to mention himself when he went back to Hell since he wasn't technically supposed to be Topside unless he was making a deal.

Coulson lowered the gun a small fraction so that it was aimed below Bucky's chin; in prime location to move to shoot him in the head or the heart with a minor twitch of the wrist. "Status report," Coulson barked. It took Bucky half a moment to recognize that even though Coulson was still looking at him, he had been talking to Clint - it had been a gut reaction to answer the command, a reaction he was only just able to repress.

When Clint didn't reply Coulson seemed to come to the conclusion that Bucky and his threat level shouldn't be his major focus at the moment. He wasn't going to admit to feeling marginally better without a .45 aimed at his person. Without either of the agents looking at him any longer, Bucky slowly backed away from the scene and moved out of sight before disappearing.

He hated leaving Clint like that (something he refused to look into) but he knew there was nothing he could do about it; Coulson would be able to force Clint to medical and they would take care of him to the best of their abilities. The blast had unfortunately ruined Clint's already shitty hearing, Bucky noted. He wished, not for the first time, that time-travel was possible and that he could go back in time to destroy Howard Barton before he could damage his boys and kill Clint's mother because of drunken stupidity.

Perhaps, he thought with a cruel smile, it's time to pay that asshole a visit. It was a weak distraction, but it was something he needed to do for his own selfish need to keep himself from doing something ridiculous like reappearing and giving Clint a hug or something else entirely less demonically appropriate.


End file.
